Dining

The royal dining room in Maegor's Hold.

The midday sun streamed through the tall arched windows, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the parquet floor.

On the dining room's vaulted ceiling was a mural of Aegon the Conqueror, an ancestor of House Targaryen, holding the sword Blackfyre. His two queens, his elder sister Visenya and younger sister Rhaenys, stood on either side of him.

The long table was covered with pristine white linen. The silver candlesticks gleamed, and even in the daylight, several fragrant beeswax candles had been lit.

On the fine porcelain plates, roasted lamb chops glistened an appetizing golden brown, served with slow-cooked onions and mushrooms and drizzled with thick gravy.

Summer Red from the Riverlands shimmered in crystal goblets, its color like a gemstone.

Queen Alicent sat at the head of the table in a dark green velvet gown. The hem was embroidered with House Hightower's lighthouse sigil in silver thread, and the neckline was adorned with tiny pearls.

Nearly half a month had passed since her return from Tidepool Island, yet the dark circles beneath her eyes had not faded.

Now, the silver fork in her hand hung in midair. After a long pause, she gently nudged the food on her plate.

The tender lamb had been cut into neat little pieces and coated with honey and crushed almonds. It was one of her favorite dishes.

But today, she had no appetite.

"Aegon..." Alicent suddenly murmured with a sigh.

"I wonder if he's eating well on Tidepool Island. The sea wind there is so damp and cold..."

She paused. Every day, she found herself repeating these pointless worries.

Helaena, seated to her right, set down her spoon. The girl wore a simple white linen gown today, and her silver-gold hair was loosely braided into two plaits that hung over her shoulders. The sunlight caught in her hair, giving it a pearly sheen.

She reached over and laid her hand atop her mother's, offering comfort.

"Mother, my brother will take care of himself."

"Aunt Rhaenys swore she would treat Aegon as kindly as her own children."

"Swore..." Alicent gave a bitter smile and clasped her daughter's warm hand.

"Helaena, my sweet girl, you're always so kind, always willing to believe the best in people."

"I believe Rhaenys. I believe in her character."

"But there are others I don't believe..."

She lifted her head and looked toward her second son on her left.

Aemond was eating with focus. He cut off a piece of meat, put it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

The sunlight gilded his short silver-gold hair.

He looked much healthier than he had when he returned from Tidepool Island half a month ago.

The color had returned to his cheeks, and he seemed to have grown taller. His black velvet tunic, once a good fit, looked a little tight across the shoulders.

It seemed she would have to make her son another new outfit.

Alicent thought to herself.

"Aemond," Alicent called.

"Ser Cole says you've been going to the training yard before dawn every day this past half-month."

"Don't push yourself so hard. Maester Meuros said overtraining could damage your bones and muscles. You're still young, and your body is still growing..."

Aemond set down his knife and fork and looked up at his mother, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

"I'm fine, Mother."

"I get stronger every day. Ser Cole says my swordsmanship is improving quickly."

Alicent stared at Aemond's confident expression, momentarily taken aback.

"That's good, then."

She remembered her conversation with her father, Otto, the night before.

When her father spoke of Aemond, there had been admiration in his voice. He was calm, more calculating, and better at understanding what he needed.

The future of the Greens would likely rest on his shoulders.

If they wanted to put Aegon on the throne, they would need Aemond all the more—and Vhagar, whom he commanded.

Just as Daemon had supported his elder brother Viserys when Viserys inherited the throne.

Her gaze passed over the seat where Aemond sat. It had once belonged to her eldest son, Aegon.

Her eldest son was being held hostage on Tidepool Island, and her daughter had been forced to betroth herself to Rhaenyra's bastard...

Her heart gave a sharp pang, and the appetite she had just begun to recover vanished.

After a long while, Alicent murmured as if to herself, "She hates me... She must hate me more than anything."

Aemond glanced up. He knew his mother was complaining again, indulging in self-pity.

He lowered his head and continued cutting his meat, his expression unchanged.

"I loved her so much once, like a younger sister," Alicent said, her voice distant.

"Mother..." Tears welled in Helaena's eyes, too. Her innocent world could not yet grasp such complicated love and hatred.

But she could feel the pain in her mother's words.

Aemond set down his knife and fork, then wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin, his movements unhurried.

Alicent had chosen this path, and her present predicament had been inevitable.

She had wanted power; otherwise, she would never have agreed to her father Otto's plan to arrange her marriage to the king, nor fought so hard for her sons' claim to the throne after becoming queen. Yet she was also bound by morality and emotion.

Indecisive. Sentimental. Aemond passed judgment in his heart.

She wanted her sons to fight for the Iron Throne but hoped to keep her hands clean. She regarded Rhaenyra as a threat, yet still longed for the sisterly bond they had once shared...

He was at a loss for words. But there was nothing he could do—Alicent had always been good to him.

In his heart, he had always seen her as his mother.

"Eat, Mother," Aemond said at last, simply picking up his knife and fork again.

"The food will get cold. You haven't been eating properly these past few days, and the Grand Maester is worried about your health."

Alicent nodded and stopped complaining, managing to force a smile.

She lifted her crystal goblet and took a small sip of Summer Red.

Just then, the dining room's oak door swung gently open.

A serving girl entered, carrying a silver tray.

It was dessert.

She looked about fifteen or sixteen, her figure already slender and graceful. Her light brown hair had been carefully arranged into an elaborate Hightower Braid, decorated with a few tiny pearls.

She was quite beautiful, with high cheekbones, a straight nose, large, bright blue eyes, long eyelashes, and full lips painted a soft rose color, like freshly opened petals.

She wore the serving girls' standard pale green fine-linen dress, cinched at the waist with a silver chain that accentuated her slender figure.

But on closer inspection, her neckline was an inch lower than propriety allowed, revealing a stretch of fair skin and a hint of collarbone.

"Your Majesty, dessert," the serving girl said, her voice as sweet as honey.

She walked gracefully to Alicent's side and dipped into a curtsy.

On the tray was a dish of jelly drizzled with cream and jam.

As she set down the tray, the serving girl's right hand trembled almost imperceptibly.

She deliberately tilted the silver tray at a subtle angle.

The porcelain dish of jelly slid toward the edge of the table, about to fall to the floor.

"Oh!" the serving girl gave a soft cry.

She hurriedly reached out to catch the dish, but lost her balance and pitched toward Aemond.

Her blue eyes widened and her lips parted. She looked startled, and shy.

She had calculated the angle. She would fall right beside Aemond's chair, and her right hand would land on its armrest as if by accident.

She would lift her face to meet Aemond's eyes as he looked down, close enough for them to feel each other's breath.

A perfect accident.

A perfect encounter.

However.

Aemond did not even look up.

He continued cutting the meat on his plate, as though everything happening before him were no more than insignificant background noise.

Just as the serving girl's hand was about to touch him, he drew his left arm inward by half an inch, neatly avoiding the accidental contact.

"Smack."

The serving girl's hand hit the chair's hard armrest, and her knuckles hurt.

She bit her lower lip to stifle a cry of pain, then raised her head. Tears quickly welled in her blue eyes, giving her the look of a startled, helpless fawn.

"I-I'm sorry, Prince Aemond!" Her voice trembled with panic and remorse. "I'm so clumsy... Please, please forgive my carelessness..."

She remained half-fallen, her neckline gaping even wider from bending forward, her fair skin gleaming in the sunlight.

She curtsied, bending especially low this time, almost to the floor.

Another chance to show off her graceful figure.

The dining room fell briefly silent.

The queen frowned as she scrutinized the serving girl.

Helaena blinked in confusion, as though she couldn't understand how someone could fall so... gracefully.

Aemond finally looked up at the serving girl.

"What's your name?" he asked.